Page 5 of Flint’s Fate (Silver Falls Shifters #3)

CHAPTER 4

FLINT

T he morning air carried the scent of damp earth and ripening apples as Flint left the orchard, headed into town and strode into the sheriff’s office, his boots heavy against the hardwood floors. The place had changed little over the years—an old brick building with an open floor plan, a few desks pushed together in the center, and a single office at the back where Sheriff Beckett Grey handled most of Silver Falls’ problems.

Not that he was handling this one fast enough for Flint’s liking.

Beck looked up from his desk, his blue eyes narrowing as he stepped into the doorway. Alpha to the local wolf pack, he didn’t spook easily. But he also wasn’t quick to move when politics got involved, and Flint had a feeling that’s exactly what was happening now.

“If you’re here to complain about Maribel’s death, save it,” he said, leaning back in her chair. “I already told you, Flint. I don’t have any evidence of a crime.”

Flint braced his hands on his desk, holding her gaze. “Then you’re not looking hard enough.”

Beck sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You think someone’s sabotaging her, fine. But what do you want me to do? The note? No fingerprints. The scratches on her door? Could’ve been any number of things, including a pissed-off bear. And that little accident at the outbuilding? No way to prove it wasn’t just age and decay.”

Flint clenched his jaw, his lion pacing in his mind. “That stack didn’t fall on its own.”

Beck sat forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “You think McVey’s behind this?”

Flint didn’t answer right away, because that was the part that wasn’t adding up. McVey was a calculating snake. He wouldn’t resort to something so reckless when he had politicians and money to do the dirty work for him.

“I don’t know,” Flint admitted. “But I know Jenna isn’t safe.”

Beck studied him, his sharp gaze unreadable. “You’re all in on this, aren’t you?”

Flint straightened, his expression hardening. “If someone’s trying to hurt her, they’re gonna have to go through me first.”

Beck sighed again, shaking his head. “Fine. I’ll make another round through town, see if anyone’s talking. But Flint…" he gave him a pointed look, “If you’re wrong about this, I’m not gonna be able to keep chasing ghosts just because you’re feeling protective.”

Flint turned without another word and walked out the door. He wasn’t wrong.

And whoever was out there wasn’t done yet.

Late in the afternoon, the orchard stretched wide before him, a patchwork of gnarled trees, overgrown pathways, and forgotten history. Flint prowled its perimeter in his mountain lion form, his golden coat blending into the dappled sunlight. The scent of apples and wet grass filled the air, but beneath it, something else lurked.

Something wrong.

He moved with silent precision, his instincts razor-sharp, his muscles fluid as he navigated the uneven terrain. The orchard had always been a place of life, but now, it felt different. Stagnant. Shadowed. Then he caught it—a scent that didn’t belong.

Flint stilled, his ears flattening. The scent was faint but distinct—a mix of sweat, old leather, and something metallic, like rusted iron. He followed it, weaving between the trees, his paws sinking into the damp soil. The trail led him toward the farthest edge of the orchard, near the ridge where the land dropped off into thick forest.

He crouched low, sniffing the air again. Whoever had been here had lingered. Watching? His lion growled deep in his chest. A snapped twig echoed in the silence, and Flint spun just in time to see movement at the tree line. A shadow—tall, broad-shouldered, fast—slipped into the cover of the woods.

Flint launched forward, his powerful limbs propelling him toward the intruder, but the moment he reached the spot where the figure had been, the scent vanished. Gone—like they’d never been there at all. Flint knew better.

His muscles bunched, his tail lashing once before he turned back toward the farmhouse. Whoever had been watching the orchard wasn’t a stranger to this land, and it seemed they weren’t at all afraid of being caught.

Flint padded back toward the farmhouse, shifting just outside the sightline; he donned his clothing before proceeding. The second he caught the scent of fear, Flint didn’t think—he moved, his mind sharpening as he sprinted the rest of the way. His boots barely touched the earth as he covered the distance, his pulse hammering in his ears.

Jenna was in danger. He knew it in a way only her fated mate would. He’d rejected Sybil’s suggestion that she was his mate, but he’d known better from the first moment he saw her. There’d been a terrible buzzing in his head as if a flight of really pissed off bumble bees had taken up residence.

Those glowing eyes watching from the trees had been a warning, but this was different. The wrongness that had settled over the orchard was stronger, closer. Someone had gotten too close. His gut twisted as he ran.

The house came into view, the porch light flickering against the soft twilight of the evening. Jenna stood at the bottom of the steps, clutching a piece of paper in one hand, her other balled into a fist at her side. She squared her shoulders, her spine rigid—defiant. But he didn’t miss the way her fingers clenched tighter around the note.

Flint slowed, scanning the area before closing the last few feet between them. The orchard stretched out behind her, the woods beyond it nothing but black shadows against the horizon. Whoever had been out there watching was gone, but the unease in the air hadn’t faded.

“What happened?” Flint demanded, his voice sharp.

Jenna didn’t look at him right away. Instead, she lifted the paper; her gaze still locked on the trees. “Looks like my secret admirer left me another note.”

Flint took the note from her, scanning the words scrawled in jagged, uneven handwriting.

You were warned. Leave before it’s too late.

A slow, dangerous burn lit in his chest.

Jenna’s laugh was cold, humorless. “You’d think they’d come up with something new. This is getting old, really old.”

Flint ignored the bite in her tone and turned his gaze back to the orchard. “Where’d you find it?”

Jenna finally looked at him, her eyes flashing. “Taped to my damn door.”

Flint’s fingers tightened around the paper. “They were that close?”

She nodded, her expression unreadable. “Apparently.”

His mountain lion seemed to crawl beneath his skin, barely contained. Someone had walked right up to her home, left a threat in plain sight, and vanished without a trace. That meant one of two things—either they were incredibly stupid, or they were overly confident. And confidence meant they thought they had the upper hand.

Flint wasn’t about to let that stand. He swept his gaze over her, checking for any sign of injury. She was still in the same clothes she’d worn earlier, her dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She looked pissed, not shaken, but Flint knew better.

“Did you see anyone?”

“No.” She let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through her hair. “I was inside for maybe fifteen minutes. I came out, and there it was. No footprints, no sound, nothing.”

Flint cursed under his breath, scanning the tree line again. The scent was already fading, blending into the orchard’s natural musk. Whoever had been here knew how to cover their tracks.

Jenna crossed her arms. “So, go ahead. Tell me how reckless I am for staying here.”

Flint turned back to her, his jaw tight. “I wouldn’t say that, but I would point out it seems to be a family trait.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Really? Because you were thinking it.”

His lips pressed together, the fire inside him smoldering. Of course he’d been thinking it. She should have called him, should have waited before stepping outside. But Jenna was far more like Maribel than Flint would have liked. She wasn’t the kind of woman who waited for backup, and if he was being honest, that’s what scared him the most.

“Whoever this is,” Flint said, his voice controlled, “they’re not done.”

Jenna tilted her head. “And you figured that out all on your own?”

His patience snapped. “Damn it, Jenna. Would you just...” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. “This isn’t a joke.”

Her expression hardened. “You think I don’t know that?”

Flint stepped closer, closing the space between them. “Then act like it.”

Jenna’s eyes flashed, her lion rising just beneath the surface. “I’m still standing, aren’t I?”

He clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe through the frustration. “For now.”

They stood like that for a beat, energy crackling between them, neither willing to be the first to step back. Then Jenna shook her head, muttering something under her breath as she turned away. Flint reached out, his hand closing gently around her wrist. She stilled, and when she looked back at him, something shifted between them. The fight was still there, the fire—but underneath it was something else.

“Let me help you,” he said, quieter this time.

Jenna hesitated, and for the first time, he saw something flicker in her expression. Doubt. Maybe even fear. Then it was gone, replaced with the same stubborn resolve he expected from her.

She pulled her arm free. “Fine. But don’t get in my way.”

Flint watched as she walked back up the porch steps, his fingers still tingling from where he’d touched her.

Something dark was moving through Silver Falls, and it had its sights set on Jenna.

Flint watched Jenna disappear into the farmhouse, the screen door snapping shut behind her like a challenge. She wasn’t running. Not from the threats, not from the unknown danger stalking her, and sure as hell not from him.

His lion paced inside him, barely contained. She should be afraid. Any sane person would be. But Jenna wasn’t sane—she was fierce, stubborn, and too damn proud for her own good. And if she wasn’t careful, it was going to get her killed.

He stormed up the porch steps and followed her inside. Jenna was already in the kitchen, yanking open a cabinet and pulling out a bottle of whiskey. She set it on the table with deliberate care, as if she needed something to do with her hands before she punched something.

She turned to face him, her eyes gleaming with challenge. “Let’s get something straight, Mercer. I’m not leaving.”

Flint dragged a hand through his hair, his patience wearing thin. “I don’t want you to, Jenna, but damn it…”

“No.” She pointed a finger at him, stepping closer. “I’m not some scared little girl. I don’t need you—or anyone—telling me what to do.”

Flint narrowed his eyes, stepping into her space, meeting her head-on. “Then wake up. Someone is playing a long game here, and you’re smack in the middle of it.”

Jenna tilted her chin, refusing to back down. “Then let them come.”

His jaw clenched. “You’re impossible.”

She let out a sharp laugh, one without humor. “And you’re infuriating.”

Flint barely noticed the distance closing between them. One second, he was ready to strangle her; the next, he was drowning in the scent of her—apples, rain, and something deeper, something wild. She must have felt it too. The energy between them shifted, humming in the air like a live wire. Jenna’s breath hitched, but she didn’t move away.

Flint’s gaze dropped to her lips. Full. Tempting. Too damn close. He should step back. Should remind himself why this was a bad idea. But he didn’t, and neither did she.

Her fingers curled against the edge of the counter, knuckles white, as if fighting herself.

Flint wasn’t fighting. Not anymore. His hand came up, brushing against her jaw, slow and deliberate. Jenna didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop him.

Instead, she leaned in. The space between them disappeared, heat crackling like a wildfire waiting to consume them both.

Then, just as fast, she yanked herself back, her breath unsteady. “No,” she murmured.

Flint stilled, his lion snarling in frustration. “No?”

Jenna’s eyes flickered with something—something dangerous. “This can’t happen.”

“Because?” he asked.

“Because it complicates things.”

Flint let out a slow breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “Jenna…”

“No.” Her voice was firm, her walls slamming back into place. She took another step away, putting distance between them. “Whatever this is, it’s not happening.”

Flint didn’t like that answer. But he knew a battle line when he saw one.

His gaze hardened, his voice dropping to something rougher. “Fine… for now.”

Jenna nodded once, as if that was that, then turned back to the whiskey, pouring herself a drink. But the way her hand shook, the way she wouldn’t meet his gaze—Flint knew damn well this wasn’t over, and if she thought she could keep fighting this, she was dead wrong.

Outside, the wind picked up, rustling through the trees. He could feel something watching, waiting, and Flint had a feeling they weren’t the only ones about to make their next move.